POV: Evelyn

Sophie believed my office needed three things: crayons, snacks, and a wolf detector.

“The building is full of wolves,” I told her.

“That's why you need it.”

She placed a cardboard machine beside my monitor. It had two bottle-cap buttons, one paper antenna, and ALERT written backward across the front.

“What happens when it detects a wolf?”

“It says wolf.”

“Efficient.”

Silas appeared at the office door carrying her backpack and lunchbox.

Sophie pointed the detector at him.

“Wolf,” she announced.

“Accurate,” he said.

It was my first afternoon working while Sophie stayed at the clubhouse after school. Maeve had patients. The regular childcare worker was ill. I could have gone home, but Sophie asked to see where I worked.

Grant had treated work and motherhood like doors that could not remain open at the same time.

I wanted Sophie to see both in one room.

I cleared the low table for homework. She sharpened six pencils, ate half her snack, and asked nine questions before I finished one vendor report.

“Mommy?”

“Yes?”

“When you do numbers, are you still listening?”

I stopped typing.

“Sometimes I need to finish one thought first. But you can always tell me if it's important.”

“How important?”

“Blood, fire, fear, or bathroom.”

“What about purple glitter?”

“How much?”

She opened her backpack.

A silver-purple cloud rose into the office.

Silas stepped back as if facing an explosive.

“Fire-level,” I decided.

For ten minutes, the president of the Blackwood Reapers held a dustpan while my daughter directed cleanup.

“You missed some,” she told him.

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

Ronan passed the glass wall, saw Silas glittering, and silently took a photograph.

“Delete it,” Silas said.

“It is club history.”

“It is your obituary.”

Sophie giggled.

The sound made Silas tolerate the photograph for almost four seconds.

When the glitter was contained, I returned to the victim restitution spreadsheet. Sophie colored beside me. Silas repaired a carburetor at the spare desk because he claimed the repair floor lacked adequate ventilation. The repair floor had six industrial fans.

I let him stay.

At three, Miriam called.

“Grant requested his first supervised visit,” she said. “Tomorrow at four. The center approved it under the temporary order.”

My hand froze above the keyboard.

Sophie looked up immediately.

“Is it bad paper?”

Silas set down the carburetor.

“Not bad,” I said carefully. “Important.”

Miriam continued. “He also asked permission to bring a birthday gift. The center denied it because her birthday is four months away. His attorney is challenging the restriction.”

“What gift?”

“A tablet computer with private messaging enabled.”

Of course.

Not a toy. An unlocked door.

“Send the specifications to the center,” I said. “And ask them to record that he attempted to provide unsupervised communication during supervised contact.”

“Already drafted.”

“Does Sophie have to go?”

“The order permits visits contingent on her clinical readiness. The child advocate can assess her. No one should surprise her.”

After the call, I closed my laptop.

“Daddy?” Sophie asked.

“He asked to see you tomorrow at the visitation center.”

Her crayon stopped.

“Alone?”

“A trained supervisor will be in the room. I will be in the same building. You can say stop. You can leave. The advocate will talk to you first.”

“Will Silas be there?”

The bond tightened.

Silas did not answer.

That mattered.

“He can wait outside if you want,” I said. “But this is not a choice between Daddy and Silas. You do not have to protect either man's feelings.”

Sophie drew a hard purple line across the page.

“Daddy gets mad when people watch him.”

“Then the supervisor will handle his anger.”

“What if he cries?”

The question cut more deeply than fear.

Grant had taught a six-year-old that his feelings were her responsibility.

“You are not responsible for making Daddy happy,” I said. “Grown-ups take care of their own feelings.”

She looked at Silas.

“Even wolves?”

“Especially wolves,” he said.

She considered the detector, then pushed it toward him.

“You can borrow this.”

“I am already aware when I am a wolf.”

“It's for big feelings.”

Silas took the cardboard machine in both hands.

“Then I will use it.”

We practiced the visit with two chairs.

Maeve played the supervisor. Ronan offered to play Grant until Sophie said he was “too funny and not mean in the right way.” He accepted the criticism with surprising dignity.